And I thought I'd like to read a love poem or two.
Huh?
This one I like, again, because, although it starts out
in rhyming couplets, it doesn't quite make it.
I spent a long time struggling with it.
And then I kind of capitulated and let
the poem have its own way.
It's called After Love.
Afterwards, the compromise.
Bodies resume their boundaries.
These legs, for instance, mine.
Your arms take you back in.
Spoons of our fingers, lips admit their ownership.
The bedding yawns.
A door blows aimlessly ajar.
And overhead, a plain singsong's coming down.
Nothing is changed, except there was
a moment when the wolf, the mongering wolf, who
stands outside the self, lay lightly down and slept.